The Bad Man eBook

He led her into the prettiest low-beamed room she
thought she had ever seen. Indian pottery was
all about, low settles, a fireplace that conjured
up a cozy picture of lonely winter evenings, and an
entrancing staircase without a balustrade that led
to a dark blue door. On the walls were some beautiful
Navajo blankets, and a tiny alcove off to the right
seemed to lead to another part of the long low house.
The windows were brightly curtained, and all the furniture
had a look of endurance and permanence—­a
manly room, she thought. Yet how ironical this
appearance of firmness and stability was, in view
of the reason of their visit! He had said he must
give the place up. What a wrench it would be for
him!

Women seldom like to see a bachelor—­particularly
a young bachelor—­living in such solid comfort.
As Lucia went up the stairs, she saw little touches
she could give to the place. But she had to confess
that the improvements she could suggest were not at
all important. If two men could get along so
well without feminine society, perhaps one of them
didn’t miss her much, after all!

CHAPTER III

WHEREIN UNCLE HENRY SPEAKS HIS MIND—­AS USUAL

It was high noon, two days later. Gilbert again
had been about the ranch looking things over.
He had his dreamy moments, but he was far too practical
to let the poet in him rule his life. One sensed,
by the most cursory glance, that here was a type of
virile young American who could not only dream, but
make his dreams come true. No idler he! And
he had no use for idlers. He had dared to come
to this far country, establish himself on a ranch,
and seek to win out in the face of overwhelming odds.

How many other young men had staked all on a single
game—­and lost. That was one of the
finest qualities of the Americans who migrated to this
vast section of the country. They were always
good losers, as well as modest winners. The land
was rich in possibilities, as Sturgis had told Pell;
and though the hot season lasted interminably and
caused one’s spirits, as well as one’s
hopes, to droop, there were enchanting spring days
and bright, colorful, dwindling autumns when the air
was keen and clear, and life was a song with youth
for its eternal theme.

Men with families bore the hardest burdens in their
early struggle for success. Gilbert, being single,
had less to worry about than many another; but his
Uncle Henry was a handicap. For Uncle Henry used
his invalid’s chair much as a king might use
his throne—­a vantage place from which to
hurl his tyrannous speeches. And there was no
come-back. Uncle Henry had reigned too long to
be fearful of any retort from any mere subject who
walked about on two firm legs. For ten years he
had held court, moving his little throne about with
sudden jerks. When things did not go entirely
his way, he could always withdraw—­expertly,
swiftly, cleverly. Doorsills were nothing to